


Blood on the Tracks

by HerbertBest



Category: Game Grumps
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Blood, Blood and Injury, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Old Friends, bullet wounds, ex-lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-07-06 05:52:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15879864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HerbertBest/pseuds/HerbertBest
Summary: Brian is a highly skilled, highly trained - and effortlessly cold-blooded - sniper.  But when a job goes wrong he turns to the only man he trusts for help - even though Dan desperately wants out of the life that once brought them together.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Strongly inspired by an idea and art from burnthehusks! Thank you for everything, Maria!

Being shot fucking sucked.

It was an obvious thought, but Brian’s ability to think wasn’t exactly crystal clear at the moment. He was in too much pain to do much more than bite his bottom lip and keep a death grip on the tweezer that was pulling the slug that had been sunk into his forearm a few minutes before out of his skin. 

It came with a sickening sensation, and a burning hot shout of pain. _”Motherfucker,”_ he whispered under his breath, then let the bullet drop to the floor of the alley. The blood pooling out of the bullet wound was not a comforting sight, but he knew the routine by now – tie off the wound with a teeshirt, then drive until he found friendly medical help. Unfortunately for Brian, this gig had dumped him in the middle of LA, which was foreign territory. It was not New Jersey. 

He stared at the lump his new burner phone made in his pocket. Maybe it was the dizziness from the blood loss, but..fuck it.

A familiar voice picked up on the second ring.

“Avidan Dance Studio, Dan speaking.”

The words came out in thick gasps. “I need you, Dan.”

There was a jostling noise. Brian thought for a moment Danny was going to hang up on him. Then there was a whisper. “You know I left that life behind.”

“I know…I know I shouldn’t even be calling but…I need you. This job…you’re the only one who can help.”

There was silence. Then, “goddamn it, Brian. Where are you?”

“Downtown LA, somewhere past Sepulveda…”

“LOS ANGELES?” Dan yelled.

“Yes, Dan, Los Angeles. Would you rather it be hell?” Silence followed. “Don’t answer that.”

“That’s a five hour drive from here, and I’m in the middle of lessons…”

“I know.”

A long sigh followed. “I’ll be there in a minute. Is the tracker still on your truck?”

“I never moved it.”

“Wow. Super sentimental.”

“Fuck you,” Brian muttered, and hung the phone up. This was one of his worst ideas in a lifetime of questionable ones, but he knew Danny, and he knew Danny would help him. 

He staggered back to his truck, opened the front door and slammed the door shut before slumping to the seat and passing out.


	2. Chapter 2

“…Kick you in the fucking dick if you don’t WAKE UP!”

Brian started, snorting, at the sound of Dan’s words. He blearily looked up through the sunlight and saw the younger man starting down at him, His big hands pressed tight to Brian’s wound.

“Daniel. So good to see you,” he said, dry as you please.

“You asshole!” Danny was saying. “I drove all the way down here, from someplace I’m never going to tell you about….”

“Oregon.” Danny’s lips turned white. “You have a little studio in Ashford. Teach a bunch of kids how to tap dance and do jazz and modern three times a day every week. It’s where you sunk the money from the Cornjob Incident.” 

Danny’s adams’ apple bobbed. “How the fuck did you know?”

“I’ve got my sources,” Brian said, with as much cheer as he could muster. Danny squeezed against his wound and he gasped.

“Why the hell did you pull the bullet out?” Danny asked. “You know it’s just going to make shit worse.”

“Had to,” Brian panted. “It was close to the joint.” Danny grumbled non-committaly. “Is it stopping?”

“Mostly. I wasted a good teeshirt binding you up,” Danny added. “You need to go somewhere, make sure there’s no muscle or nerve damage. I’m not a surgeon so I have no idea how fucked up you are right now.”

“Understood,” Brian said. “This is embarrassing but…can you drive me back to my safehouse?”

Danny frowned. “I have to get back before six. I’ve got a recital to attend.”

“How charming,” Brian said. 

“Move the fuck over,” Danny said, and he did – remembering a time when Danny had been far quieter, far more deadly – and far more worshipful. 

*** 

Danny was twenty-nine, gawky still, with big ears and short hair when he met Brian. He didn’t tell him where he’d learned his skills, but Brian knew through the grapevine – he was deadly, with his hands, with knives, with his feet. Brian, who had been working for too many years by himself, sat beside Danny on a plane ride to Algiers, where they were going to assassinate a drug lord at his mistress’ home. 

And the whole way there he couldn’t stop talking. 

Brian was appalled by his cheeriness, his easy way with words. He was almost strangely innocent about it all. 

Brian was the one who took the killing shot, but Danny was the one who photographed the evidence. They split the money when they came home.

And that was how the partnership began.

***

“Brian,” Danny said. He came out of his trance and looked over at the man beside him – still tall, still long-necked, still innocent behind the eyes, but with wrinkles shifting his visage, with longer hair, wearing a motorcycle jacket and jeans that screamed ‘frustrated rock star’ more than ‘children’s dance teacher.’ “Brian. Where do you live?”

It took him a minute to peel back the layers of fuzz and try to answer Danny back. “Go to Orange Plaza,” Brian said, as the world blurred by. “Five Orange Plaza. That’s where I’m living now.” And that was all he could get out before the darkness consumed him again.


	3. Chapter 3

When Brian finally came to again, Danny was bending over the bed, pressing an icy washcloth to his wounds. He could feel the sting of disinfectant where he’d been shot and the press of a bandage.

“All I could find at the store was Advil,” Danny said. “If you want Vicodin, you have to go to the hospital.”

Brian nodded. He swallowed down the Advil water-free. “Thanks,” he said. “Did you sew it up?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ve got antibiotics too. Called in a favor with a pharmacist friend. Just make sure they don’t clash with anything else.”

“You got those but no vicodin?” Danny stared down at him. Brian sighed as he took the bottle of pills from him. “Thank you,” Brian said.

“I don’t know why you called me,” Danny said. “I’ve been out of your life for years and all of a sudden you want me to help you?”

“It was an emergency,” Brian said. “You know I won’t just bother you out of the blue for no reason.”

“I’m out of that life, Brian,” he reminded the other man. 

“Are you really?”

Danny sneered. “You knew the truth. I couldn’t take it. Wouldn’t take it. After all of the years I had to spend wiping up some pretty ugly messes for you I couldn’t do it. The casual violence, the death – it isn’t who I am. Was never who I was.”

That was painfully true. All Brian had to do was close his eyes and be transported back to the past, to Dan crying over a bloody slip of clothing, a lost life. He’d felt guilt, pure and sharp, over exposing him to something like that. He was talented, tough – handsome, he thought to himself idly and wondered if it was the blood loss making him think that way about Danny again.

“We’re not going to talk about that again,” Brian said. “It’d be unproductive to dredge it back up.”

“I know,” Danny said. He sounded exhausted. “Just…go back to sleep,” he said. “Rest until you’re your old pain in the ass self again.”

“Sounds great,” Brian muttered. He was already halfway to dreamland when he heard Danny drag a chair over and rest a hand upon his leg.

Danny fell asleep on the chair sitting right beside Brian, drifting dreamlessly in his wake.


End file.
